Bear Hunting on Kadiak Island 



surely seemed as if fortune was with me that day, 

 as at last I had a fair chance at the game I had 

 come so far to seek. Aiming with the greatest 

 care for the lungs and heart, I slowly pressed the 

 trigger. The bear gave a deep, angry growl, and 

 bit for the wound,* which told me my bullet was 

 well placed; but she kept her feet and made 

 a dash for the thicket. I was well above, and so 

 commanded a fairly clear view as she crashed 

 through the leafless alders. Twice more I fired, 

 and each time with the most careful aim. At the 

 last shot she dropped with an angry moan. My 

 hunters shook my hand, and their faces told me 

 how glad they were at my final success after so 

 many long weeks of persistent work. Including 

 the time spent last year and this year, this bear 

 represented eighty-seven days of actual hunting. 



I at once started down to look at the bear, when 

 out upon the mountain opposite the bull was seen. 

 He had heard the shots and was now once more 

 but a moving black speck on the snow, but it will 

 always be a mystery to me how he could have 

 heard the three reports of my small-bore rifle so 



* When a bullet strikes a Kadiak bear, he will always 

 bite for the wound and utter a deep and angry growl; 

 whereas of the eleven bears which my friend and I shot on 

 the Alaska Peninsula, although they, too, bit for the wound, 

 not one uttered a sound. 



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